Chapter III: The Reconstruction Begins - Page 2

wins I'll put the whole thing into a short story."

Then began a new quest for characters to go with Marguerite Andrews.

"She must have a chaperon, to begin with," thought Harley. "That is indispensable. Herring, Beemer, & Chadwick regard themselves as conservators of public morals, in their 'Blue and Silver Series,' so a girl unmarried and without a chaperon would never do for this book. If they were to publish it in their 'Yellow Prism Series' I could fling all such considerations to the winds, for there they cater to stronger palates, palates cultivated by French literary cooks, and morals need not be considered, provided the story is well told and likely to sell; but this is for the other series, and a chaperon is a sine qua non. Marguerite doesn't need one half as much as the girls in the 'Yellow Prism' books, but she's got to have one just the same, or the American girl will not read about her: and who is better than Dorothy Willard, who has charge of her now?"

Harley slapped his knee with delight.

"How fortunate I'd provided her!" he said. "I've got my start already, and without having to think very hard over it either."

The trance began again, and lasted several hours, during which time Kelly and the Professor stole softly into Harley's rooms, and, perceiving his condition, respected it.

"He's either asleep or imagining," said the Professor, in a whisper.

"He can't imagine," returned the Doctor. "Call it--realizing. Whatever it is he's up to, we mustn't interfere. There isn't any use waking him anyhow. I know where he keeps his cigars. Let's sit down and have a smoke."

This the intruders did, hoping that sooner or later their host would observe their presence; but Harley lay in blissful unconsciousness of their coming, and they finally grew weary of waiting.

"He must be at work on a ten-volume novel," said the Doctor. "Let's go."

And with that they departed. Night came on, and with it darkness, but Harley never moved. The fact was he was going through an examination of the human race to find a man good enough for Marguerite Andrews, and it speaks volumes for the interest she had suddenly inspired in his breast that it took him so long to find what he wanted.

Along about nine o'clock he gave a deep sigh and returned to earth.

"I guess I've got him," he said, wearily, rubbing his forehead, which began to ache a trifle. "I'll model him after the Professor. He's a good fellow, moderately good-looking, has position, and certainly knows something, as professors go. I doubt if he is imposing enough for the American girl generally, but he's the best I can get in the time at my disposal."

So the Professor was unconsciously slated for the office of hero; Mrs. Willard was cast for chaperon, and